Torg Vs Nny
by Gabriel Syme
Summary: A Sluggy freelance/Johnny the Homicidal maniac crossover, where Torg duels with Nny after their world collides (don't ask). Expletives not censored, explaining the rating. Do R & R, but please dun flame.


Disclaimer: Torg, and characters from Sluggy Freelance are by Pete Abrams, creator of Sluggy Freelance, which can be viewed at www.sluggy.com . Johnny C, aka Nny, and characters from the JtHM series are by Jhonen Vasquez, creator of Johnny the Homicidal maniac.

Just had to say it. In case.

~  


Night.

There is something beautiful about the night time.

Just as the day heralds the rising of Helios, so does the night hail the rising of Dian. It is the night, that precedes the day, just as it comes after, and it is during the night, when the first glimpse of the new day, comes by. Just as the Sun reaches it's peak during the midday, so should the Moon receive more praise, for, when she's at her peak, a new day is initiated, for all those below.

And indeed, the peak had come for Artemis, the great Goddess of the night, as her light shone benevolently on the streets of the lowly suburbs below, as most individuals would be fast asleep, awaiting the new day.

But, the peace that the quite calm, the quiet tranquillity, of the night, usually brings, was absent, in one, neglected, but significant street.

~

"FUCK YOU !"

The singing of metal could be heard, as two individuals tried to outdo each other to the greatest of their abilities.

"Fuck you Torg ! Get away from me !"

~

The being that yelled this was, in many manners, feline: agile, slim, sleek and nimble, quick about his feet, and able to dodge and evade with the greatest of ease . Though not of much strength, he made up for this with unusual dexterity, seeming almost unearthly to some. His sleek nature proved effective to him, and very essential: it allowed him to be more discreet, and to be more stealthy, and thus, escape from the authority. 

His mind was of particular interest: he possessed the mind of an intellectual, hindered by years of torture, hate, envy, and utter disgust, along with a total lack of proper rest. Insomnia denied him from truly recollecting the source of his hatred, and he suffered from all manners of afflictions, paranoia and schizophrenia, voice around his head, a curse to the gift of marvellous intellect that is so rare amidst the vast sea of the mass lot of humanity. He bridged the gap between maturity and childishness, involving himself with crimes only matured people can truly be guilty of, and, at the same time, had a preference to cold sweets. His mind bore deep grudge, and was stained with the elimination of dozens of indifferent, ignorant types. His mind was an unusual accompaniment to the sleek, body he had, and proved useful, as a quick, and cunning mind suited a quick, and agile body.

~

"Listen, Nny ! Please, give up this fight !"

~

The other being that yelled this was little different from his opponent. Though not as sleek as the other, he had a bit more strength, and a harder constitution. Torture was nothing new to him, and nor was violence. When it came to blows, he was not quick to dodge, but was quick enough to retaliate. And, like his opponent, he was alert, and of a keen eye, and not unwilling for a fight.

To say that he lacked the intellect of his rival was an utter lie: although one would hardly perceive him to be of any reasonable intelligence, he was, in all respects, intelligent: he merely was an oblivious soul, ignorant to most other matters, save those that were of interest to him. Giddy headed he was, and naïve as well. Though mature, he was more child-like, and capable of handling certain pressures with a greater ease. He had the ability to extend his imagination, and display it out openly, even if to the disdain of the lot of others, without giving so much a thought or care. He came from a more sheltered childhood, and one that he could remember. Although he had his rough days, it would seem rather innocent. And indeed, all the events that he encountered were fantastic, and almost unbelievable, to a lighter degree: whereas the other individual came from a more pessimistic world, this fellow was an optimist.

~

Both had their similarities and differences. Both were the enemies of the lot of society that remained the same in any period of time, or in any presence of culture, and would always exist, no matter the circumstance. Both were laughed at in terms of appearance, and mannerisms. Both were of matching intellect, and were incredible fighters, both had seen a virtually perfect utopia, and a damned state of existence. However, they differed both in appearance and personality as well: one was innocent, more child-like, and more optimistic, the other was the product of a dark past that severely affected him, and made his become both mature, and childish. 

Nonetheless, each one of them were the epitome of the world they represented. They were avatars, duelling with each other in a very rare duel, rare, not in manner of style, or type, but, in manner of origin, and practise.

Though that fact mattered little.

~

"Listen Nny ! I have already heard about you ! I know about…."

"Shut up, you incessant bug ! You have not committed what I have committed, and you're not even close to what I've seen…"

"Don't be so presumptuous !"

"Presumptuous, my ass !"

And with that, in one swift, agile move, he unleashed his fury with a quick, catapult swing of his arms.

They came charging, the bow of sharp steel cruising at a ramming speed, the side decks possessing a grinning face, grinning in a sadistic fashion.

With his blonde, short hair unwavering, the other fellow ducked with uneasy grace, both knives hitting the victim that was a poor beacon of lighting for passers-by, which were none at the incident.

"SHIT ! I MISSED !"

Like a cat, readying it's next move, he crouched down, his hands reaching for his leather boots. Steel buckled, unusually attractive to a distinct lot, they proved to be effective sheaths for his next lot of short bladed weaponry.

"I will make you beg…."

The sound of losing patience, and rising tension, resulted.

"Oh please ! You tried that already !

In fact, you tried to kill me, make me writhe in pain. You tried to hurt my friends, and the one's closest to me.

We never were the ones to laugh at you: why did you even attack us ?"

This was too much.

"Quiet ! I knew, I KNEW ! You may not be like them, but you are blind, a blind moron. 

Look at this world, this pathetic, fucked-up wasteland ! You have been living in a fantasy, you have yet to see true pain, you have yet to bleed…"

"Now you shut up, you bastard ! I have had enough of your nonsense !

You are no different from someone I knew…."

~

What could hardly pass off as discussion of stimulating thought had to be put on pause, as both warriors came into a rather uneasy situation.

With swift grace, the lighter, more agile human made a few, quick easy steps, and had both of his blades hissed the long, tarnished sword his opponent wielded.

Even their weapons had a history unique to them: the sword that the blonde possessed was an artefact, and was distinct; it was his trusty companion, had served him in epic, and was of true elegance. Though of a more modern origin, the other two blades in the black haired individual were more refined and adept, and better at striking out an unwitting victim.

They clashed. The sword wielder tried to gain the upper hand, as he rose up, using the strength he had, and pressed down against the resisting fighter.

The manic, depressed man quickly pulled aside his blades, both in an opposite direction, away from each other, in a manner that, just before the cold long sword could even touch the epidermis of his face, he would have already rolled aside, to safety, and get up again, ready for the next manoeuvre.

It was a dark, deadly dance; it was now the homicidal man's turn, as he parried with the sword dancer, attempting to hit at the feet first. One deflection. Try to hit to knees. Another deflection. At the waist, a third deflection. A strike to the head was deflected.

"You're no different Nny. Quite ironic that you use knives like her.

You are no more than a poor, silent, lonely individual. You have no friends, no one to turn to in times of aid, except yourself.

And when it comes to dealing with pressure, and the effects of a day, you take it out on people, by taking them out.

You are lost, a wanderer, desperately seeking answers, and a companion, and you, find nothing, no one, in this void. You are sad, and silent. And what do you do ?

You kill."

~

Torg would regret making that statement.

For, in making that accusation, Johnny had the advantage of knocking out the blade in his hand.

The Sword of Mercia collapsed to the floor, and Torg was left, on the ground, defenceless.

And at the mercy, of Johnny C.

~  


TORG VS. NNY

A Sluggy/JtHM crossover

Based off "Sluggy Freelance" by Pete Abrams and "JtHM" by Jhonen Vasquez

~  


To be continued….(as always)

Apology: Apology if this story is OOC in any way… the idea was fresh in mind. But I'll polish it, if it is ! Honest !


End file.
